


King of the Castle

by mareen



Category: Invasion (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-17
Updated: 2008-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareen/pseuds/mareen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he brought Larkin to the water, Tom Underlay's family seems to fall apart. <br/>Set after the final scene of the final episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of the Castle

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by two very amazing people, frogspace and sol_se. Thank you! All remaining errors are my own.

They are waiting, standing on the beach side by side, staring out at the water. The sun is coming up, a bright orange light over the darkness of the ocean.

Mariel is long gone to check on the kids and Dave. At first, Tom had been expecting him to show up, maybe with a gun. But he never showed, and he silently thanks Mariel for that. Whatever she told him, it held him back. Or maybe Dave thinks Russell took care of it himself.

"Does it still bleed?" Russell says. Tom flinches. The ocean had been the only sound for so long, he had almost gotten used to the silence between them. Tom brushes the back of his hand over his mouth and only comes away with crumbs of dried blood.

"No," he answers. "How is your hand?"

"Fine."

Silence. Tom blinks into the rays of the ascending sun. Russ stands beside him, unmoving, his face a mask. The waves crash almost softly against the sand under their feet.

How long until a hybrid is born? How long until a new Larkin will rise from the ocean?

* * *

In 1996, the second Tom Underlay was born.

He had realised right away that something was changed about him but, at first, had held the shock of the plane crash and losing his wife accountable. Only when Mariel had taken him into the Everglades and he'd walked into the water had he known that it was something else, something greater. Something he'd have to keep a secret.

He'd always been good at controlling himself and his environment, but it seemed like nothing the new Tom Underlay was capable of. He'd found a strength and a willpower in himself he'd never thought possible, never knew he had. And he probably didn't. Not like this.

The first Tom was good. He'd had a clear idea about where he was going, what he would like to do with his life. He'd loved his wife and his daughter and his job.

The second Tom Underlay was exceptional...the second felt like he could do anything. Anything he wanted.

* * *

Four hours earlier, Russell had been kneeling on Tom's chest, knees on either side of his body. He'd beaten his fist into Tom's face and violently pressed his head under water, while Mariel pulled at Russell's arm and screamed at him to please stop.

Tom hadn't fought. Tom had closed his eyes and thought of his beautiful daughter, of people getting tossed into the ocean, of his mistakes, of his choices, of Mariel, of Russell fighting at his side. He thought of being hardly human anymore.

When Russell had let go of him and stumbled back to the beach, he had felt himself float on the waves, less and less of his body touching the ground. For just a second he had wanted to let go, had wanted to be out there where Larkin and her baby were. Leave it all behind, the fight, the killings. Just for a second, he'd slipped.

Then he sputtered. His hands scrambled under him. His fingers dug into the sand.

He had pushed himself up.

* * *

The sun has fully risen when Russell finally looks at him and says, "Has there ever been a woman who was pregnant when she was turned into a hybrid?"

"None that I know of," Tom answers carefully. He tries to turn his face towards Russell without looking at him. His eyes shift to the ground, to Russell's shoulder, to the long beach spreading out behind him. "But that doesn't mean anything. You know there have been things going on that..." For a second his eyes meet Russell's. Unreadable. He doesn't know what Russell is thinking. He can't make sense of him. Tom blinks, twitches, turns his head again and stares at the waves moving towards the beach. "Russ...," he says, but he can't finish whatever he wanted to say.

Tom has always known how to make connections, when to put his hand on someone's shoulder, on someone's arm, when to use touch or voice to his advantage, what words to use on people to control them and their behavior. Something goes wrong, he confronts; he doesn't back down. He controls people by controlling himself, his feelings, his reactions. No matter what, Tom will keep up appearances. He will continue to play his part.

The secret to his success, the secret of how he could control a whole town for so long, was to make it seem as if Sheriff Tom Underlay was an unmovable object in a sea of chaos. He did it to Homestead. He did it to his men at the station. He even did it to his family, his wife...and he'd done it to Russell.

"I know you thought you had no other choice but this," Russell says. "And whatever happens, I know you tried everything in your power to save her and the baby." He breaths deeply. "But there's something inside of me that truly wants to kill you right now."

The problem, of course, is that he cannot work his magic on Russell anymore because Russell sees right through him, and whenever Tom fucks up and is about to start his usual game, he can see it in Russell's eyes--that "Do not try to bullshit me" look. But bullshitting people has been Tom's default for so long, he doesn't even really know how else to react. So instead, he is reduced to silence, to not being able to look Russell in the face.

Tom takes a deep breath, then he nods once without taking his eyes off the ocean.

"But thank you for waiting with me," Russell says so softly that Tom almost misses it. He shakily nods again.

* * *

Two nights before the first Tom Underlay joined the Air Force he went out for a drink.

His father asked him if he would meet with friends, and he'd nodded, knowing full well that he was lying. He would be alone, and he would drive 38 miles to get as far away as possible from everybody he might know.

The bar was called "Rainbow," and that alone was so fucking ridiculous that on a normal night, Tom wouldn't have let himself be caught at a place like this if his life depended on it. But tonight was the last night. This bar was his last chance to let go, and he took the place where it was going to happen as it was: acceptable losses.

Tom had never loved a man. He liked having sex with them. He liked the feel of a dick in his hand, the feel of stubble against his face, against his chest and the inside of his thighs. But he'd always thought that love was between a man and a woman. Giving up men, he thought therefore, would be easy. Sex he could control, love probably not so much.

He had a coke and leaned against the bar, his eyes on the small crowd. Duran Duran was blaring from the speakers. Men were on the dance floor, most of them without their shirts on, their jeans clinging to their bodies. The air smelled of sweat, beer and marijuana.

Tom let his gaze wander around the room. A few men had seen him and tried to catch his eye, but most of them were older men that he had no interest in. In the end, he smiled at a tall, broad-shouldered and fair-haired guy in a red t-shirt and blue jeans who was around his own age.

They met behind the bar, in a small alley, without even having exchanged a single word. "My name's Oliver," the other guy said, before he went down on his knees.

His left hand pushed under Tom's shirt, wandering over the quivering muscles of his stomach and to his nipples; the right opened his jeans and pulled out his dick. When his mouth closed around him, Tom gasped. The back of his head hit the stone wall he was leaning against, and he ran his fingers through Oliver's short hair and over his shoulders. "That's nice," he whispered.

Oliver knew what he was doing, when to use pressure, when to suck, when and where to lick, and Tom could feel the orgasm building in his stomach way too soon for his own liking. He felt hot and sweaty and incredibly turned on. Moments before he came, Oliver let go of him and stood up. His lips were slick. He was breathing hard. Tom watched him open his own pants and pull out his dick, then deliberately and without taking his eyes off Oliver's face, he licked his hand once and took him in hand. He smiled at the feel and at Oliver's low moan, but when Oliver leaned in for a kiss, Tom turned his face and licked his neck instead.

Tom jerked him off fast, almost brutal, but Oliver didn't seem to care. He was panting, his hand was gliding over Tom's skin, his grip just right for the exact amount of friction Tom needed and wanted. When it came, Tom's orgasm almost took him by surprise, he was too concentrated on cataloging and remembering every feel, every touch for later use. His toes curled in his sneakers, and the burn, the hotness, almost made him recoil. A moment later, he heard Oliver grunting into his ear, and he knew it was over.

Tom swallowed hard. The handkerchief his Dad had given to him for his 16th birthday was in his back pocket, and he used it to clean off his hands and stomach. He straightened his shirt and closed the zipper of his jeans.

"What's your name?" Oliver was cleaning off his own hands and looked at Tom with a small grin. "Maybe we'll see each other again."

"Peter," Tom said.

* * *

"What if they don't bring her back here? What if she ends up somewhere around Miami? Or in the middle of the 'glades?"

Russell is sitting on the sand. He has his knees pulled up and his elbows resting on them. His questions are rhetorical, Tom knows; he doesn't really expect an answer. They have no way of knowing where they will bring Larkin. Maybe here, maybe somewhere else entirely. He doesn't even want to think about any other possibility. Waiting here...it's just for them. Tom sits down besides Russell.

"We will find her," he assures Russell. "She will be okay."

Russell turns to him. For the first time, Tom realises how haggard and pale he looks, almost out of his mind from worry. "We don't know that," he says. "She won't even be Larkin anymore. What if she turns into one of those people...like Carl's wife. Or Christina."

"She will never be like that. I will help her through the transition. Look at Mariel. Larkin will..."

"You cannot make everything right, Tom, just because you want to. That's not how it works, and we've seen that in Homestead."

Tom finally turns to him. Something inside of him wants to scream and shout and tell Russell that of course he can do it; he will do it, and everything will be back to how it was. But instead, he swallows it down and just ruefully smiles at Russell.

"Homestead is not my family," he says.

They sit together. Tom's finger paints a shape in the sand. A diamond form, a wavy line attached to it. When he realises what he has drawn, he runs his hand through the sand and smooths it out.

* * *

Almost four hours earlier, Tom had stumbled from the water, blood gushing from his mouth and nose. Russell had been right in front of him, his face contorted in anger, his body shaking in hardly contained rage, and his hand looking bloody and blue from connecting with Tom's face.

"What the hell where you thinking! Was that...was that something you'd been planning to do from the beginning, you fucking asshole?"

"She was *dying*!" Tom screamed back. Blood had been running into his throat, and he'd tried to swallow, then spat out instead. "The lines were jammed, and even if they wouldn't have been...do you believe *anyone* would have come to help us?"

Mariel moved between them, right before Russell managed to lunge himself back at Tom. "Stop it!" It was her Chief-of-Staff voice, the one that commanded respect from everybody. Russell hardly held himself back, then stared at Tom for a second. He hit the sand at his feet with a violent kick. "Dammit!" he shouted.

Tom breathed deeply, once, twice. He forced himself to relax enough to use his calming voice. "Look," he said. "We cannot...we cannot let this come between us. I am sorry. I am sorry...but..."

Russell gave him a murderous glance. "Do *not* talk to me right now, Tom." He turned. Helplessly, Tom watched him walk away, down the beach into the darkness.

Tom and Mariel were left standing on the beach together, and neither of them knew what to say. Tom's clothes were already starting to dry in the humid Florida air, and he unsuccessfully tried to wipe off Larkin's blood. His hand rubbed over the dark brown stains on his chest and arms, even though he knew that the blood had already penetrated too deeply into the fabric. He knew he was behaving almost erratic, with his hands rubbing up and down, up and down, but he couldn't stop himself. Just couldn't stop. He could feel himself slipping, and it was terrifying.

"You...should go check on the kids and Dave," Tom said without being able to look at his wife. "I'll stay here and wait for Russ."

Mariel looked at him doubtfully. "Are you sure you should? He's..." She grabbed his hands and stopped them from moving. "Tom..."

He finally met her gaze and nodded. He took a deep breath. "I'm sure. We have to solve this, and we should do it before Larkin returns."

His wife's arms closed around his body as she embraced him, and he held on to her for dear life.

"Do you think I messed up?" he whispered into her hair. "Was there another way and I just didn't see it because of some instinct I can't control?"

Mariel put her hands on both sides of his face and forced him to look at her. "No," she said firmly. "You made that mistake once. You wouldn't make it again. If you thought it was her only chance, I trust you that it was."

Tom kissed her lips, then her cheek. "I love you," he whispered.

* * *

Two months ago, Russell was just the father of his wife's children, someone he put up with because he had to. Two weeks ago, he was an annoyance, sometimes a danger, sometimes the person to turn to for the sake of his family.

Russell now... Russell *is* family. There's other people, and then there's them--Mariel, the children, Russell, Larkin, Lewis and Dave even, and himself. They have pulled together, and they have built up a wall, closing themselves off from everybody else, although not entirely by choice.

But even in their little circle, there are people he is just *closer* to, for a myriad of reasons, that in the end boil down to just these: Mariel is his wife, and Kira, Rosie and Jesse are his children, and he loves them more than anything.

And then there's Russell...but when it comes to Russell, all he can think is that he feels about him in a way he has no words for. What he has is a feeling in his stomach, a pull, something that has him confused and unsure.

For a short while, there have been things in his life beyond his control. Szura and the people around him put a pressure on Tom he never would have expected. But they were manageable. Szura has been taken care of. His followers from the Island will be next. The deputies at the station Tom can't trust will be found and taken care of. Homestead will quiet down, and in a few hours he will find and lead the newborn hybrids.

He is still Sheriff Tom Underlay, and he doesn't believe for a second that he can't herd these people back in a few days or weeks time.

But Russ... Russ, he doesn't want as his acolyte. Russ, he wants to stand by his side. He just doesn't know how to ask for it or how to deal with this feeling.

* * *

He was gone for almost an hour, but when Russell came back, his body looked less strained and his face more composed than it had before. Tom had watched while he walked towards him, but turned back towards the ocean once they stood side by side. Neither of them had broken the silence. They'd stood like that for a long time, their shoulders touching. Not much, not always, but it was enough to send shocks of heat through Tom's body whenever they did.

Maybe, Tom thinks, maybe this was his first step. To let Russell be, to trust that he wouldn't pack up the children �" and possibly Larkin �" and leave them (him) behind. To stop trying to straighten him out like he straightened everybody else out. Maybe the first step is nothing but truth and trust.

"Szura is dead," Tom says. "I shot him."

"I know. Mariel and I came back and saw his body."

He gazes at Tom. "I don't think it's over. I think after what happened, we might be heading towards a full-fledged civil war or a holocaust."

"Us against you?" Russ says and stares at his face. Tom stares back.

"No," he says. "*We*," he emphasizes, "We are going to stop it. We are going to stick together."

"Are we?"

"It's safest for all of us."

"No, it's not, Tom. Safest would be to separate into small groups and go into hiding while everything goes to hell."

Break apart.

Tom grunts. He presses his lips together, looks out at the sea, looks back at Russell. Russell is turned to him, his body immobile, but with a strange expression on his face. Tom *wills* him. Wills him to look into his eyes and *understand*, because he cannot ask, he cannot put what he wants into words.

He suddenly feels warmth against his hand. It takes a while before he realises that it's Russell touching him. Just his finger, moving softly against Tom's. His breath catches in his throat. He can feel himself giving in, giving up control, but is suddenly not sure he wants to allow it. He pushes himself back, breaths deeply. He doesn't move. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Russell, his face something between terrified and determined.

"We stick together," Tom says decisively. There's no discussing this. It's set. "We are not going to..."

"No, we aren't," Russell cuts him off. Tom looks at him again. "We stay together," Russell adds.

Tom fights a smile. For another moment, neither of them says a word. Tom feels the calm embracing him again. They are going to stay together. They will contain this.

He hears Russell breathing deeply, as if he is trying to pull himself together, too. "Look," Russ says, "Whatever happens with Larkin...I can't continue this thing without you. You and me..."

Two of Tom's fingers close around Russell's hand for a moment before he tries to pull back altogether, but Russell holds him by the wrist. His other hand comes up and cups Tom's neck. For a moment, both of them are frozen, stuck between moving towards each other and moving away. Tom searches Russell's eyes. Then Russ pulls and Tom pushes. The kiss is hard, all open mouths and teeth and tongue, wet and desperate. Tom feels the blood rushing through his body, and he can feel Russell's pulse racing under his hand. He is being urged back into the sand, licks at Russell's mouth, pushes his tongue back in. He can't decide what to do first. He wants everything.

Russell calms him down. He slows the kiss, turns it soft and easy. He moves between Tom's legs and cups his dick through his pants. Tom stifles a moan and tears at Russell's shirt, rubs his hands all over the naked skin of his back, until Russell moves away for a moment and pulls the shirt off over his head while Tom opens his pants. Their eyes meet. "Let go, Tom," he whispers. Russell's face...the expression in his eyes...Russel will be right there with him, always right there.

"Russ...," Tom says. "Oh, Jesus."

His hand clamps on Russell's neck again, and he pulls him down to himself. His bloody shirt rides up and the sand clings to his sweaty back. Russell's hand is at his zipper, his fingers push inside his underwear. They are skin to skin. They kiss. Russ is smiling against his lips, and Tom feels something inside himself uncoil, something old and lonely. He rocks against Russell, and mouths his naked shoulder.

"This is how it's going to be?" he whispers against Russell's skin, and just like that he knows. This is the future of them. This is the birth of the third Tom Underlay.

* * *

They are standing on the beach, side by side. The sun is up, bright and blazing. It's going to be a beautiful day. It's always most beautiful after a storm, Tom thinks. He feels calm. They will face the future.

Russell looks out at the sea. He moves closer to Tom.

"Larkin," he says and points to something in the distance.

 

August/September 2008


End file.
